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cowgurrrl · 11 months

Text

Ptolemae

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (except this is all backstory)

Author’s note: I was listening to Ethel Cain the entire time while writing this and it shows

Summary: “Rage is not to be avoided, diminished, belittled. Rage is God. Better believe my rage is steeped in love.” — Shira Erlichman, as quoted in Jacqui Germain’s When the Ghosts Come Ashore [3.8k]

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical type violence, PTSD symptoms, probably incorrect wound care, angst, feminine rage bordering on insanity (my favorite)

It takes you a full forty-eight hours to approach the soldiers in the center of what's left of the city. They've set up tents and medical sites among the rubble. They're calling themselves the Federal Disaster Response Agency or FEDRA. Their uniforms are identical to the one the woman who was ready to shoot you was wearing. They carry assault rifles and yell orders out, every so often burying a bullet in some Infected's head as they approach the camp. You don't trust them, but then again, you didn't trust many people before the world went to shit. You would've stayed outside the makeshift fence longer, but the graze on your arm is only getting worse, and Jane is only getting hungrier. You can't keep being stubborn when she's relying on you to keep her safe.

You tuck your gun and knife into the very bottom of your backpack, hoping the supplies and half-open gauze packages will distract them long enough to conceal your weapons. Jane watches your movements quietly and curiously. You glance between her and the camp beyond the treeline you're hiding in. She looks like she's aged three years in the past few days, dirt and fear hollowing her features in a way you've never seen before. You smile half-heartedly as you put your hands on her arms and squeeze.

"Hey," you say gently. "It's gonna be okay. We just need to go down there and tell them we need help, just like we practiced. Can you show me what you do?" You ask, and she raises her little hands to show she's unarmed. She's shaking. You can't tell if it's from hunger or fear. You don't know if it matters.

"My name is Jane Eloise. I'm five years old. I'm not sick, and I don't have anything that could hurt you." She says, and you nod.

"That's right. Good job. And then, let Mommy do all the talking, okay? Once they get us all processed, they'll take us wherever they've been taking people all day, and we'll be able to get you some food."

"What about you?" She asks. Jane knows you haven't been eating or sleeping. You gave her all three of the meal packs in the tactical backpack, and she's heard you curse under your breath when you tried to change your bandage. Still, you smile and tuck her tangled hair behind her ears.

"I won't ever leave your side. I'll be right here, holding your hand, and if you're feeling scared, you can squeeze my hand as hard as you can, and I'll take all your fear away," you say, grabbing her hand. "Wanna try?" You ask, and she smiles as she squeezes you with all her might. You make a goofy face, and she laughs for the first time in three days. It sounds like music. Once she's done squeezing your hand, you smile. "So, when you do that, you shouldn't be scared anymore. You should only feel strong and brave. Can you show me a brave face?" You say. She flexes her muscles and mean mugs you until you laugh at her commitment to the bit.

"Did I look scary, Mommy?" She asks, stepping into your arms, and you nod.

"Scariest kid on the block," you say as you hug her. For a moment, the only thing in the world that matters to you is her heartbeat against yours. It's steady and perfect and made from half of you. The consistent thumping gives you enough strength to stand, carry her in your arms, and walk down to where the FEDRA soldiers are stationed.

You're slow and careful as you come down the hill. If you run to them, yelling for help, they'll put a bullet in you without a second thought. They'll think you're sick if you act desperate like that. So you move like you're treading on ice, but even then, ten different guns point in your direction, and you swallow down your fear as you put the hand not carrying Jane in the air. She does the same.

"Stop right there." A FEDRA soldier yells once you're a few hundred feet away. You put Jane down and show them you're unarmed. All the soldiers look identical, with heavy tactical gear, menacing weaponry, and helmets protecting their skulls. Jane reaches for your hand and squeezes hard. You swallow around the lump of bile in your throat and find your voice.

"We're not sick!"

"Names!" One of them yells. Jane immediately launches into her rehearsed speech with one hand above her head and the other tucked in yours. You take a deep breath and tell them your name once she's done.

"I'm her mother. We need help." You say. The soldiers look at each other for several long seconds before lowering their weapons and approaching you. Jane squeezes your hand again and steps back into your body. One soldier removes his helmet and drops to the ground to show Jane that he's just a man. He's got kind eyes and dirt stuck to his skin, but he manages a gentle smile for Jane. You wonder how he would treat you if you didn't have a kid.

"We're gonna take you and your mom to that tent over there to get you checked out," he says, pointing to the tent beside the barely standing fence. "Once the doctors say you're okay, we can take you to a shelter with lots of food and water. Does that sound good?" He asks, and Jane nods hesitantly. The soldier glances between you and Jane before rising to his feet again and leveling you with a look, his grip adjusting on his gun. She's not a threat, he's saying. But you are. "Ladies, first." He gestures toward the tent, his tone starkly different than the one he used with Jane. Your jaw clenches, but you do as you're told. He follows closely behind as you walk over to the tent, the metal of his gun clanking against his gear. It sounds like bones rattling. You do your best to hide the shakiness in your step and keep the hand Jane's holding steady.

He follows you inside the tent, closing the flaps for some semblance of privacy. There's no medical gear inside, just a scary-looking table. Something squishes under your shoes, and you make a conscious effort not to look down at the damp ground as you turn and look at the soldier. "Put your bag down," he orders. You let go of Jane's hand to slowly slide the backpack from your shoulders and place it on the table. His eyes widen as he recognizes the tactical bag. "Where did you get this?"

"I found it in the woods while we were hiding," you lie, squaring your shoulders as he eyes you suspiciously. "Nobody was around, and I thought it could have stuff we needed in it."

"So, you just found and took a military-issued bag and didn't think anything about it?"

"No offense, soldier, but I don't think theft is the worst thing to come out of the past few days." You say, and he squints at you like he's trying to figure out if he believes you. His gun clicks against his gear as you stare each other down.

"I need to know you're not bitten before I can let you go any further," he moves on, and you feel your shoulders drop in relief. You remember seeing those things mercilessly attacking people, ripping their faces off, or chewing on flailing limbs. If getting bitten is how this is spreading, who got bit first? Who started this? The soldier looks down at Jane. "Can you wait outside while I talk to your mommy?" He asks, and you put a hand on Jane's shoulder before she can move.

"She's not going anywhere." You dig your heels in, and you watch his jaw tighten.

"I didn't think you'd want your kid in here when I asked you to strip to check for bite marks."

"The world fucking ended, and you think I'm going to trust you people with my kid after you dropped bombs on us?" You ask, tucking Jane behind you. You've done it so many times in the past few days that it feels natural, putting yourself between her and a threat. "She's staying with me."

"Fine, but I still need you to strip." He sighs, exasperated. You're pulling your arms through your jacket before he can even finish his sentence.

"I'd love nothing more, Waters." You spit, glancing down at the name tag on the front of his uniform. You throw your jacket down on the table holding your backpack, and he freezes when he sees the gauze on your arm. He doesn't move as you pull your shirt over your head to reveal the scrapes and asphalt burns from fighting the infected guy outside your apartment. Your legs don't look much better, the skin broken and stained red. Jane gasps once she sees the cuts and bruises for the first time, and the sound makes you want to cry. Waters gestures with his gun at the bandage on your arm.

"Take it off," he orders. With shaking hands, you peel the gauze back, the graze immediately bleeding and making you hiss as the air hits it. Your hands clench into fists as he looks at it intently. Once he's satisfied, he nods and hands you a new package of gauze. "What happened?"

"We got caught up in the bombings. Cut my arm on a piece of shrapnel." You say as he checks you for anything else that could be a bitemark. Once he's done circling your half-naked body, he clears his throat and turns his back to you so you can redress. You do quickly and painfully, your skin seemingly protesting against the sudden stretching. You ignore the scrapes across your shoulders breaking open, coating the back of your shirt in blood as you pull it over your head. He doesn't turn around until he hears your pants zip back up. You're quietly grateful he decided to be respectful when he could once he decided you weren't a threat anymore.

"You've been out there since the bombings?" He asks, and you nod. He looks at Jane before looking at you again. "And her? She's not sick?"

"If she were, we'd both be dead." You're shocked by the cruelty in your voice, but you don't flinch. Waters gives you a look before moving to your bag and searching through it. If he sees your weapons at the bottom, he doesn't take them or indicate that he knows about them. He zips up your bag and hands it back to you.

"Welcome to the Quarantine Zone."

The shelter isn't even half-full when you get there. What was a high school has since been turned into a home base for any survivors who made it past the FEDRA screenings. They give you a hot meal, blankets, toothbrushes, and a change of clothes. There are no showers, but you're just grateful to get the taste of blood out of your mouth. You and Jane set up your stuff on two little beds next to each other in the corner of an old classroom, your bed closest to the door. There are maybe ten other occupied beds in the room with you. Maybe.

You don't know why, but you search the wartorn faces for your ex. You haven't seen or spoken to Matt since Jane was a few months old, and even then, your last conversation was not one you'd care to relive. Still, part of you had hope that he'd be alive and safe. He's still Jane's father. But you don't find him. You don't see anyone you recognize as you and Jane walk to the medical tent in the old gym. An older woman with bloody scrubs and a clipboard greets you.

"Hey there. What do you need today?" She asks, surprisingly cheerful, and you glance around at the medical supplies.

"I just need some surgical glue. Do you have any?" You say, and she gives you a look before digging around in a bin. She finally comes up with some, and you let out a relieved sigh. "Can I use some? I'll give it right back." You ask. Someone gasps behind you before she can open her mouth to say anything. You quickly pull Jane closer to your body and feel your fists clench as you turn to see who's behind you. When your brain catches up to the fact that an Infected is not rushing toward you, you see Mr. Lowery standing there. Jane wiggles from your arms and runs to him, an excited noise leaving her.

"Jane, oh my goodness. I'm so happy to see you," he says, his gentle teacher voice not wavering even in the apocalypse. You let out a shaky breath as you leave the medical table and walk over to them. Adam says your name in the same breathless tone once he realizes you're there, too, and throws his arms around your shoulders. You yelp in pain as his hand grazes your open wounds, and he quickly lets go of you. "I'm so sorry. Are you hurt? I didn't-"

"It's fine. Just sore," you shake your head once you see the worried look in Jane's eyes. "I'm glad you're safe, Adam."

"Yeah, you too. You're the first parent I've seen since I got here." He says sadly. You try not to think too hard about what that means and swallow around the lump in your throat.

"Ma'am, do you still need help?" The woman you were talking to earlier walks over, the surgical glue still in her hand, and you nod.

"Yeah, I just need to borrow that." You say, pointing at the bottle in her hand.

"I don't feel comfortable letting someone untrained use medical supplies like this."

"Oh, she's not untrained. She's pre-med. Right? Weren't you studying for the MCATs?" Adam asks, and you press your lips into a line as you nod. The woman looks between you and the gauze on your arm with a cocked eyebrow.

"Why don't you let me look at it?"

"No, it's really okay. It's not that deep."

"I'm only gonna ask nicely once." She says with the same stern, concerned tone you use for Jane. You sigh and grab Jane's hand, but she stands her ground.

"Mommy, can I stay with Mr. Lowery? I really, really missed him." She asks with praying hands tucked under her chin. Your heart lurches in your throat, and your mouth goes dry as you search for an answer.

"I can watch her while you get checked out if you want. We'll stay right here. We won't go anywhere." Adam offers, and you fight the urge to snatch Jane from his arms and yell at him to shut up.

"Please?" Jane begs, making her vowels extra long to plead her case. You take a deep breath and make eye contact with Adam.

"You stay here. You don't take her anywhere or give her anything. You don't even think about moving from this spot, got it?"

"Got it," he says without hesitation, and your jaw clenches as he stares at you. "I won't let anything happen to her." There's enough conviction in his tone for you to nod and follow the woman into one of her sectioned-off canvas rooms.

She puts on gloves and watches you sit on the edge of the cot, your knee bouncing as you stare through the curtain's tiny opening. You don't say anything as she carefully pulls the bandage away from your skin, blood breaching the surface as soon as it's off. You grit your teeth as she wipes at the cut with an antiseptic wipe but don't make any noise. You don't want Jane to hear you being in pain, so you clench your jaw so hard your bones creak with force and wipe your tears on your shirt sleeve.

"That your little girl out there?" She asks, trying to distract you, and you nod. "She's beautiful."

"Thanks." You mutter as she applies a little more pressure to your skin. Stars explode across your vision, and you curse under your breath. You don't remember it hurting this bad when you actually got grazed. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

"Did you come here with her dad?"

"Nope. Haven't seen the guy in four years."

"Sounds like his loss."

"That's a understate, fuck," you stop as she presses a line of surgical glue across the graze. It burns as it settles into your skin, and the woman offers you whispered updates of how much longer until it dries and little encouragements. Once it's finally done drying, she puts a sterile bandage over the adhesive and offers you two painkillers. You look down at the two little pills and raise your eyebrows at her. "Acetaminophen?"

"There's that pharmacology," she smiles as you take the pills. "What branch of medicine did you wanna go into?"

"Doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me." She says, and you shake your head. You bite the inside of your cheek as you debate on telling her or not. Is it fair to bring that dream up when it will never happen?

"Surgery."

"Smart girl."

"Something like that." You shrug, the movement irritating the scrapes on your back, and you wince. The woman stands and looks at the back of your shirt to see it stained with blood.

"What happened?"

"One of those things tried to get me. My back got cut up on the asphalt," you explain. "It's fine."

"Doesn't look fine. Can I take a look?" She asks, and you chuckle.

"You're the second person I've had to take my shirt off in front of today." You say, taking a big breath and holding it as you pull your arms in and pull the fabric over your head. You turn your back to her so she can see the extent of the damage done to your skin. She doesn't gasp or have any reaction. She just starts dabbing at the blood gently, like you cleaned the blood from Jane's skinned knees.

"May," she says like she's speaking to a spooked dog. "My name is May. I figured someone should give you the courtesy of knowing their names when they ask you to strip." She says, and you nod. You tell her your name in return, the rigid posture of your spine relaxing a little at her care.

"Jane is my little girl."

"How old is she?" She asks, and you swallow thickly.

"Five."

"Must've been scary. Tryna keep her safe out there."

"You have no idea." You whisper, your voice cracking over the words as memories of screaming creatures and shaking earth fill your mind. She cleans the rest of your blood in silence before putting ointment over the scabs. She checks for any broken bones while you're still sitting and tsks when she presses against a tender spot in your side, making you groan.

"You've got at least one broken rib and probably one of the worst cases of road rash I've ever seen, and I was an ER doctor," she says as she hands you your shirt and sits across from you on her rolly chair. She gives you a sympathetic look, but you're not all there. Part of your brain is still pinned to the concrete under a screeching human, clawing at your skin. "But that little girl," she says, recapturing your attention. "That little girl is in perfect health. If I didn't know what happened this weekend, I would've had no idea she was ever in any danger."

"Is this the part where you scold me for putting myself in harm's way when I could've just come here earlier?" You ask, and she shakes her head.

"No, this is the part where I tell you what I've told all my parents who've come through here," she says, resting her knees on her elbows so she can look you in the eyes. "I don't care what you had to do to survive. I don't care what you did to protect them. I don't even care why you're sittin' on my table. I care about making sure you know how lucky your kid is to have you. For every kid that made it out, there's three more who died. You did good." She says sincerely, and you have to look away from her to wipe at your eyes.

"Doesn't feel like it, but thank you."

"I know it doesn't, but I promise you it's true," she says. "And I see how much you care about others. Otherwise, you wouldn't have wanted to be a surgeon. Now, I know you didn't get your MD, but I did, and I want to teach you what I know. Lord knows I need the help."

"No, I can't." You shake your head.

"Yes, you can."

"I'm not the person you want for this."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I'm... I'm not a good person."

"Who is?"

"I killed people," The confession stuns you both into silence. Hot, angry tears stream down your face, and you pull your shirt back over your head. "I killed people to protect her. It was them or her, and I chose her. I will always choose her. So, whatever perfect, good, strong person you think I am or could've been at one point isn't here anymore. I buried her the second FEDRA tried to drop a fucking bomb on my kid," you stand on wobbly legs and pull your hair out of the collar of your shirt. "Thanks for your help, May."

That night, you don't sleep despite the aching in your bones. You stay awake and listen to the expanding and contracting of Jane's lungs as she dreams. When she wakes up screaming, you're already there to calm her down and remind her that she's safe. Adam ends up sleeping three cots down and tries to help when she wakes up, but you stop him before he can sit on her cot with a wide-eyed, annoyed look. He backs off after that. You've gone most of Jane's life without help from anyone, and you're sure as hell not going to accept any now.

You were the one shoving knives through skulls and burying bullets in throats to keep her safe. You were the one who hid your pain from her for two days while you hid out in the barn. You were the one who taught her to give her fear to you because you are the only one who can handle it. What the fuck does Adam Lowery or May know about that? You will never again be the woman they once thought you to be. No, after this, you will be bloody and rageful and ruthless. There is nothing you wouldn't do to protect her or ensure her happiness. There is no corner of the earth you would leave unturned for the tiniest chance of her having a future.

And God help any motherfucker who stands in your way.

#when you’re lost in the darkness #look for the light prequel #the last of us #the last of us x reader #tlou fic #tlou angst

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